Victor?
by Babybutts
Summary: My name is Ever Crest. I am 15, and live in District 4. But now I have been reaped. Everything is changing. Will I live?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys! This is my first fanfic, so don't hate too much, ok? Please leave a comment, and DON'T LET ME DISCONTINUE! PLEASE! If I do discontinue, PLEASE send me lots of hateful, angry PMs and comments! Thanks! **

District 4.

I breath in the scent of salty ocean air as I stand on the dock by our house.

Salty sea air whips through my short brown hair. My bright, piercing, green eyes are closed, arms outstretched at my sides.

It is reaping day.

As an only child, I never had to worry much about the Games, until I turned twelve.

Mother walks out our house and stands behind me. Her hands stroke through my hair. "Are you nervous?" she asks softly.

"Not really," I say.

Her hands clasp my shoulders as she turns me around. Her eyes search mine, then she pulls me into a tight hug. I bury my face into her neck, breathing deeply.

She smells like the air around us; like salt and wind and sun. She smells like home.

"Oh, Ever," she says softly, "just know that no matter what happens, I love you."

I allow a few stray tears to escape my eyes. "I love you, too, Mother."

She pulls back, saying, "What do you say we go fishing one more time before the reaping?"

I shake my head sadly. "Sorry, Mother, I can't. I don't have time. I have to get ready." Her face falls, so I quickly add, "We can go tonight, when all this drama has died down a little."

I force my tone to sound light, yet certain, as though there is no way I will be reaped. She smiles, but her face is pained, and I wonder if she feels that odd pang in her stomach that I do.

She pats my head. "Why don't you go get ready?" she suggests.

I nod. "Okay, Mother."

"I laid your dress out for you on the bed. If you want, I can do something with your hair."

"Thanks, Mother. I love you."

"I love you, too, Ever. I love you, too."

I go inside.

§§§

The dress that Mother has laid out for me is sea-foam-green, and short. It would be pretty, if, you know, you like dresses and all that. I've always preferred pants.

I slump down at my desk, in front of my small, hand-held mirror propped up on the desk, leaning against the wall, little bigger than a compact.

I see my father's hand grab my brush from my desk. He runs it through my short hair. "You don't have to be scared," he says softly.

"It doesn't make me scared," I sigh, "or worried, or nervous, or even anxious. It just makes me… _angry_." I swivel to face him. "How could they do this to us? What are they thinking? 'Oh, _I_ know! We'll take two kids from each District every year, and lock them in an arena to kill each other! _That_ will stop them from rebelling!"

He places his hands on my head and sighs. "You know it's not like that, Ever. We've been over this before. It's the Capitol looming over us, saying –"

"I know, I know," I sigh. "Like they're saying 'A rebellion is pointless. Look how easily we take your children. Look how we can make them kill each other.' I… I…" I glare at the floor. "I almost _want_ to go," I blurt. Father freezes. "I want to go, to leave a _mark! _To show the Capitol that they can't own everyone. I –"

Father's hand cracking across my face stops my ranting. My head whips to the left, face stinging. Numbly, I reach my hand up to touch my cheek. Confused, I tip my head up toward Father.

His hand is still raised by his head, chest heaving, eyes wide and wet. "Don't. You. Dare," he says, enunciating each word clearly, "_Ever!_ Say that again."

I stare at his hand as realization hits me. "Did you just –"?

"You are _not_ going to the Games, do you hear me?" He half-shouts the words, half-whispers them; he sounds like he is chocking.

I say nothing, but secretly think a bitter thought. _You don't really have a say._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys! It's me again! So, how do you like it so far? Pretty good, huh? No? Don't worry! It gets better! I promise!**

**P.S. I don't own the Hunger Games. Just most of these characters. XD**

The reaping is held in the town center, the one place that shoes are mandatory. Mostly all of District 4 is beaches, and we go fishing on wet boats, so shoes are mostly obsolete.

The center of town is circular, and on a raised deck, because of large waves. There are buildings all around. On top of the buildings are men and women with cameras, all pointed around the crowd and at the stage. There are bright banners, balloons, and streamers everywhere. There is a band playing cheerful music somewhere. The sun shines brightly as I sign in.

I am ushered into an area in the middle of the crowd of children, with the rest of the fifteen-year-olds. As I wait for the ceremony to begin, I wonder what I will do if I am reaped; what my strategy will be.

_Confident,_ I decide; _the cocky ones always get good sponsors._

The stage has nine chairs, five of which are filled with male victors, and two with females. Mayor Overstrike sits in another chair.

The last chair is filled with District 4's escort, from the Capitol. She always dresses flamboyantly, with large hair and colorful clothing. And she has that odd, lilting Capitol accent. Her name is Vola.

Once everyone is there and settled, Mayor Overstrike gets up, and gives a dull, boring speech that no one listens to. When he is done, everyone claps politely. Then Vola stands up and the crowd instantly hushes, and everyone tenses, leaning forward.

She smiles brightly at the crowd before scampering lightly toward the large glass bowls with folded slips of paper in them. Only three have my name.

Cheerfully, delicately, she reaches her hand into the bowl and pulls out a slip, held daintily between her thumb and forefinger. _Does she not realize that she holds a child's_ _life in her hand?_

She trots cheerfully back to the microphone and unfolds the slip. She holds it up to her face, and reads it aloud.

"_Ever Crest."_

I go numb for a moment, and then my body switches to autopilot. Without thinking, I put my shoulders back and straighten my spine. I place a mischievous glitter in my eyes and a smirk on my face.

My ears are buzzing.

Numbly, I walk – no, _stroll_, really – up to the stage, up the stairs, up to Vola, where I stop and stand next to her, facing the rest of District 4. They cheer, because they have to, but look unhappy – because I'm young – and confused – because of the confident expression on my face.

Then I hear a strangled gasp from the crowd, and a figure shoves his way through.

It is Speed, my best-friend-slash-boyfriend. "Ever!" he shouts, and his voice is desperate. He manages to shove his way all the way up to the front of the stage, on the floor in front of where I am standing. "Ever!" he cries softly.

"Oh, Speed," I say, pain tearing at my chest. The emotion on his face is one of raw agony. I lightly jump off the edge of the stage to stand with him, and he pulls me desperately into his arms.

I cling to him.

I hear murmurs, and see a group of Peacekeepers approaching us, ready to pull Speed away, away from me; when they get closer; I pull back slightly and hiss at them.

They are startled, and back up for a moment, looking unsure, and then glance at each other. They start back toward us.

Then Vola, bless her, stops them by saying, "No, no, no. It's fine; let them have their… _moment_."

One of the female victors – I think her name is Layna – stands up and says to the Peacekeepers, "Leave her alone. So long as she doesn't try to escape, let her be." I glance at Layna and mouth, "_Thank you._"

She nods once in response. Then I bury my face in Speed's neck and refuse to let myself cry. He cries, though, and I soothe him. I stroke his hair and hold him. After a moment, he regains his composure and straightens up, stroking my hair, eyes searching my face as though memorizing it.

"You have to win," he says quietly, not disturbing the scene above us, where they are selecting the male tribute.

It is not Speed, thank god. It is some boy from the poorer part of District 4. He goes to my school, and we talk sometimes. We're friends, but we're not really _close_ friends. His name is Christopher Yew. He's a pretty cool kid. He's 16, I think.

Most of the cameras are trained on the stage, on him, because of course, they need footage of the male tribute being reaped, but I am acutely aware of several cameras trained on Speed and me.

"You have to win," he repeats, whispering in my ear.

My numbness has faded by now. I am aware of everything, all of my senses are aware of every little sight and sound and smell, but I still remember to seem cocky.

"I will," I state, and, bless my acting skills, it sounds like I am positive, as though it is a fact rather than an idle reassurance.

Then the ceremony is almost finished; it's time for the tributes to shake hands.

I peel myself out of Speed's arms and begin to climb back onto the stage, but Christopher stops me, saying, "Nah, it's cool. I've got you." He jumps lightly down from the stage and lands in front of me.

He sticks his out for me to shake, grinning. I grin back, and clasp his hand. He then surprises me by pulling me into a "bro**-**hug," our hands clasped between us, and I outright laugh, clapping my free hand on his back.

I hear the crowd laugh as we pull apart, and see Speed grinning. Then one of the Peacekeepers grabs me by the elbow, and starts pulling me toward the Justice Building.

"Hey," I call, taking my elbow back.

"You have to go inside the Justice Building," he says slowly, like he is talking to a little kid.

"I know," I snap. "Don't talk to me condescendingly." I turn and grab Speed's shoulders and look straight into his bright blue eyes. "I _will_ come home," I say.

All of the cameras are trained on us, so all of Panem sees as he pulls me in and kisses me.

When I break away, I stroke his cheek. "I promise."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys! How'd you like that last chapter? Just FYI, her name is Ever (Crest). She's also fifteen (15). Just to clarify. **

**How many of you read Gregor the Overlander? That's another book series that the lovely Suzanne Collins wrote.**

It smells bad in my room in the Justice Building.

My mother and father visit me first. Mother cries and clings to me, and Father cries, too, but he is crying angry tears. He stomps around the room and throws things; throws them on the floor, throws them against the wall, throws them against the door. Most of them break.

When the Peacekeepers come in to take them ou, Father has just punched a wall. They look at the destruction, then at my father. One of them leads Mother and Father away, and the other leads me to a new room.

I am not allowed any more visitors – not even Speed. When I hear this, I get mad – really mad – and take my anger out on the walls, like my father.

But I don't break anything.

When my energy is gone, I fling myself on the couch and sleep.

§§§

I wake up when a Peacekeeper dumps a bucket of ice-cold water all over me. I jump so hard I literally tumble off the bed in a heap of throw pillows. I glare at him. "Was that really necessary?" I snap.

I can't see his face under his Peacekeeper helmet, but I can hear the smug grin in his voice; "Not really; no."

I scowl at him as I wipe water from my eyes.

"Get up," he orders, nudging me with his foot. "It's time to get on the train."

§§§

On the train, it is warm. I am led to my room, dripping wet. When the Peacekeeper leaves, giving me instructions to be in the dining car at 7pm, the first thing I do is strip off my cold, wet clothes and take a long, hot shower. I am puzzled by the variety of strange buttons and knobs, but, after a minute or two, I get the hot water to come on.

When I'm in, I experiment with buttons. I press a large orange button and a minty toothbrush shoves its way into my mouth and forcibly brushes my teeth. I twist a small green knob and a pineapple-scented soap squirts into my eyes, which burns like a son of a b – eh-hem, "female dog."

I tilt my face up to the spray of water and rinse out my eyes. When they are soap-free, I squeeze them shut and press a random, unseen button. Vanilla-scented shampoo oozes into my hair and my muscles start to relax as unseen hands massage the stuff into my scalp.

They sure don't have showers like _this_ in District 4. I could have stayed in this shower forever, but the water turns itself off an hour later, and an alarm blares at me telling me It is 6:45pm get ready get ready get ready get ready get ready get…"

"Alright!" I shout. "Alright alright alright! I'll get ready!"

The alarm turns off.

Huffing, I wrap myself in a thick, fluffy robe and head over to the dresser in my room. I open it, close my eyes, and pick out my outfit. When I am dressed, I place my hand on a pad on the wall and electricity shoots through my hand, up, up to my head and dries and detangles my hair instantly.

"Whoa," I murmur, running a hand through my short, brown – now soft and feathery – hair.

I look in a huge, full-length mirror hanging on the wall. I am dressed in a green tee-shirt that sparkles in the light, and silver, shimmery jeans that cling to my legs tightly. The Capitol calls them "skinly-jeans," I think. No, no, "_skinny_-jeans," that's it.

I hunt through the drawers – for nothing in particular – and pull out a pair of black, cotton, fingerless gloves. I nod at them once, approving, before slipping them on. I flex my fingers and turn my hand over.

I glance at the digital clock, and see it is 6:59pm. I huff and look around for socks and shoes. Then, suddenly, the door swings open. I look at it surprised; there is no one there. "What –"? _Why did the door just open itself?_

Then, suddenly, the floor under my feet starts _moving_. It launches me right through the door into the hallway.

I land on my feet, but the momentum keeps me going. I start to fall forward, so I land in a roll and then leap up onto my feet, It all happens within a second. I look up to see Layla in front of me. She looks surprised. "I was just coming to get you."

"Uh, here I am," I state. Layna looks at my feet. I look down and realize I am still barefoot. I guess I'm going to dinner without shoes.

"During training," she says, and I tense, "be sure to check out the free running station. I think you'll do well there."

"Okay, but just so you know, I'll do well anywhere. I'm amazing," I say. I have to keep up the cocky act.

"Whatever," snorts Layna. "Come on, girl. It's dinner time." She turns and starts walking away. At a very fast pace, might I add.

"My name's not 'girl,'" I say, running to catch up with her. "It's Ever. Ever Crest."

Layna just snorts and rolls her eyes. "Whatever, girl." I groan. Then we arrive at a door that Layna opens. We walk through, and then we are in the dining car. Christopher, the male victors – Uriah, Zeke, Peter, Will, and Eric – Vola, and the other female tribute – I think her name is Christina – are all already sitting down, eating. I sit down in the chair next to Christopher and am suddenly being served soup. It is orange, and thick, with pale, tapered seeds in it and a brown dust on top. I mix it until the brown dust dissolves, but don't eat any. Christopher notices and nudges me with his elbow. "It's pumpkin soup," he says. "Try it, it's really good." I nod and take a bite; he's right, it's really good.

When I'm done, the dish is taken away and immediately replaced by a salad. It has carrot shavings on top, and shreds of chicken in it. I hear Vola cheer delightedly and say something about "Caesar Salad." I guess that's what it is.

I am served thin strips of veal and mashed potatoes. This is amazing. When I've finished that, too, a plate of something that doesn't at first register is placed in front of me. I am confused, because it is red and raw, but it smells like fish. Vola looks up at Christopher and me and winks. "It's a special treat for our District 4 tributes," she say, chipper as always. "Sushi!"

The name sounds familiar; it is a District 4 delicacy, raw fish or something. I have never had it.

It is delicious, just like everything else has been. I am beginning to think everything in the Capitol is delicious.

For dessert, we are served chocolate cake with a gooey pudding inside. After, I have to clench my jaw – hard – to deep from throwing it all back up. I have never been so full in my life. Then Layna and Uriah – the dark-skinned victor who looks about 20, with a snake tattoo behind his ear (*****) – take us to a different compartment of the train, where we watch the other reapings. Some of them stand out in my mind; some do not.

The girl from 1, who is thin but tall, taller than even me, and I am 5'9".

The girl from 6, who looks sneaky, mysterious, and wary. She'll probably be a hider.

The girl from 7, superbly muscled.

The boy from 10, who is short and scrawny, but has an evil glint in his eyes.

The girl from 11, who is only thirteen, but looks like a fighter – like a survivor.

"Okay!" calls Uriah, clapping his hands together. "Just remember: in a few days, these 22 other tributes," he gestures toward the screen, "will be trying to kill you. Sleep well!"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hi guys! Sorry for the long break, but you know, high school is a lot of work. Teachers seem to think that 9****th**** graders have no life outside of school, and nothing to do but homework, so… Here you go!**

_Splash!_

I bolt upright, spluttering. "_Seriously?!_" I shriek. "_Again?!_" I am on the floor in a tangle of sheets, dripping wet and freezing. Vola stands over me, holding a now-empty bucket. I glare at her, and resist the urge to call her a bunch of unladylike, colorful names.

"Good morning, sunshine," she trills.

"Leave," I groan at her.

"Fine, fine; just be in the dining car by seven."

My eyes bulge. "_Seven?_ You mean it's not even _seven_ yet? Why the hell did you wake me up, Vola?!"

She just titters a laugh and scampers out of the room. I sort of growl**/**scream angrily before hauling my ass off the floor into the bathroom, where I stand in the shower. I stand, fully clothed, and punch the wall of buttons. Pleasantly warm water streams full blast onto me, a moment before I am assaulted by lavender scented soap, black soap squirted onto my feet, orange-scented shampoo in my hair, and a bar of soap shoved in my mouth. Then the water alternates between on and off and I give up. I get out, pull the plug on the shower and go over to the sink. Using the detachable hose, I stand in the shower and turn on the warm water and hose myself down.

When I am soap-free, I wrap a new, white robe around myself and head back to my room. I open my drawer and pick out my clothes blindly again. Another pair of skinny jeans, this time bright red, with a chain hooked and dangling from my belt loops on my left side. I pull on the loose black tee-shirt. I pull the fingerless gloves from off my night table where I put them last night and slip them on. I decide to go barefoot again. Why not? I put my hand on the pad, and my hair dries again. Then I go off to what I assume will be breakfast.

When I get there, again Christopher is there, and so is Vola, but no one else. Again, I slide into the seat next to Christopher. A plate appears in front of me, loaded with bacon, pancakes, eggs, waffles, and more things I can't identify. I swivel around in my seat, a "thank you" on my lips for my server, before my breath is stolen away by the sight of her. She is amazingly adorable, with long blond hair, done up in pigtails, and clear, big, bright blue eyes. She is only about five.

I resist the urge to pinch her cheeks and coo _Aw! You're adorable!_ I clear my throat and say, "Thank you."

She nods.

"What's your name?" I ask her.

She doesn't answer. Instead, she looks down at the floor and presses her lips more tightly together. She is dressed in all white.

I hear a throat clear and look over at Vola. She looks disapproving. "She can't answer you," she says haughtily. "She's an Avox."

Christopher has put down his knife and fork by now and watches Vola, the girl and me. "What's an Avox?" he asks.

"Someone who's a criminal. They cut out her tongue so she can't speak."

Instantly, a surge of protectiveness washes over me. I draw an arm around the Avox girl and draw her to my side defensively, rising from my chair. "That's… _horrible!_" I exclaim. Vola just shrugs. "This girl is like, _five!_ What could she have _possibly_ done to deserve her _tongue cut out?_" I still hold the girl to my side. Her arms are wrapped around my waist, her face pressed into my side. I think she is crying.

Suddenly, I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. I whirl around; it is Layna. Her eyes are as gentle as her hand. "Don't bother," she says softly. "It's not worth it."

I am flabbergasted. "What do you mean 'it doesn't matter?'" I cry. "Of _course_ it matters! _Look _at this girl!" I pull her away from my side and turn her to face Layna. Her face is streaked with tears, but she keeps her mouth firmly closed.

Christopher comes and stands next to me, on the opposite side of the girl, who hugs my side again. He wraps an arm around my shoulder, and presses his face against my head, by my ear. I lean against him. "Ever," he whispers into my hair. "Of course it's worth it. But what are you going to do with her? Take her by the hand and walk out of here? They already took out her tongue, Ever. They can't put it back. Let her be."

I am almost in tears. Then a woman walks out of the kitchen. She has the girl's blonde hair and blue eyes. I think it is her mother. She also wears white.

An Avox family.

She reaches her arms out to the little girl, making a soft sound in her throat. The girl whirls around and sees her mother. She lets go of me and stumbles to her. The woman hugs her, picking her up. The woman looks at me, and her eyes manage to say both _thank you_ and _I'm sorry_ at the same time. She turns and walks back into the kitchen. The girl looks back at me over her mother's shoulder for a moment before she disappears behind the kitchen door.

I stand unmoving for a moment. Christopher pulls me into a hug. I bury my face in his neck for a moment. "I'm sorry," I whisper into his neck. I feel him shake his head and I pull back and see a small grin on his face. "What?" I whisper.

He laughs. "You're something else, Ever." A grin creeps its way onto my face. "Come on," he says, grabbing my hand, pulling me to my seat, where we sit next to each other.

For a moment, there is silence. Then Uriah clears his throat. "Well," he says, "that was… interesting." Everyone laughs, including me.

"I'm sorry," I say, not sure whether I mean it or not. "I'm… _protective_."

"Enough of that," says Layna, going back to her usual gruffness. So thoroughly so that, for a moment, I wonder if I imagined the gentleness on her face a moment before.

My daydreaming is interrupted when Will calls out, "Soon, we'll be in the station in the Capitol. When we get there, you'll be sent to your stylists."

"You won't like what they do," says Christina.

"But no matter what," Uriah adds, "Let them do what they want."

"Don't argue," says Eric.

"Don't make suggestions, don't talk back, don't complain," orders Zeke.

"But –" I start.

"No buts!" snaps Peter. _What a jerk._

"What if –" It is Christopher, this time, who is interrupted.

"We're here!" squeals Vola. Bright lights pour in and I then realize that we've been in a tunnel for several minutes. I rush to the window, Christopher hot on my tail, and almost pass out from the look of the Capitol people.

Everything is colorful loudness, with deep pink, bright green, neon yellow, glowing blue, shimmering orange, dark purple, blood red, jet black…

My senses are on overload. I grasp Christopher's hand under the window for support and he squeezes back reassuringly. I plaster a fake smirk on my face and flash it t everyone, waving with the hand not locked in Christopher's. Slowly, slowly, the train grinds to a halt. Christopher and I stand in front of the door and I let go of his hand. "Thank you," I whisper. All I can see of him is the side of his face. His cheek lifts and I can see he's smiling. Then the doors slide open with a _whoosh_ of air so powerful my hair is blown backwards.

I step forward into the Capitol air and am surprised by the lack of salty-sea-air scent. _Of course it doesn't smell like District 4, _I chide myself. _It's the Capitol._

Then a man and a woman grab one of my hands each and lead me through the huge crowd of loud, multi-colored paparazzi.

They take me into the Remake Center, and I see them for the fist time. The woman has electric blue hair parted heavily to one side, huge eyes that, oddly enough, seem to be naturally that size, and a knot of silvery Celtic tattoos above her eyebrows, across her forehead, and down to her cheekbones.

The man has candy-pink shaggy hair, orange, cat-pupil eyes, and neon-green lipstick.

"Hello!" squeals the woman. "My name is Juniper!"

"And I'm Ivo!" The man squeals just as much as the woman.

"Hey Juniper." I wave a little, grinning. "Hey Ivo."

"We're your prep team!"

"Cool! That sounds like fun!" I try to mimic their accent, not to be rude, but because it sounds like fun. They speak in suck a high pitch. With jaws that barely open. The ends of their sentences go up like it's a question – even though when _I _ask a question, _my _voice goes _down_ at the end – and they have odd vowels, clipped words, and a prominent letter _s._

They laugh like tinkling bells. "Oh," gasps Ivo, "you're so funny, Ever!" Only he pronounces it "Eh-vah" instead of "Eh-ver."

"Sit down here on this chair," coos Juniper, leaning against the back of a reclining, dentist-like chair. I start to resist, suspicious, but stop myself and climb in the chair. Ivo and Juniper laugh again.

"Uh, did I miss something?" I ask, confused.

"You have to take your clothes off first, silly!" Laughs Ivo.

"_All _of them?" I ask, starting to freak out a little bit. I'm the opposite of an exhibitionist.

"Yes, '_all_ of them!'" trills Juniper. I grimace, remembering the mentors' warnings, and reluctantly strip down. I sit uncomfortably in the chair. Working together, Ivo and Juniper cover each of my legs individually with some sort of strange tape, getting every inch.

"Ready?" titters Ivo.

"Ready for what?" I ask nervously.

Ivo turns to Juniper, who counts, "One… two…"

"_Ready for what?!_"

"_Three!_"

They each pull the tape from each leg and hair rips out at the follicle.

"Oh my god!" I growl through my teeth, in horrible pain, "that feels good." Sarcasm drips heavily in my voice.

Thankfully they finish that in a few minutes. When I am done, I do not have a single hair on my body below my eyelashes – not one. Then I am rubbed down with a gritty exfoliating lotion that removes three layers of my skin. Then they rub me down with a lotion that soothes my burning skin. Then I am given a thin white robe and placed in a comfortable lounge chair with an electric back-massager built in. Ivo positions himself at my hands, and Juniper at my hair. The soothing stroking of my hair, the massaging on my back, and the softness of Ivo's hands on mine is so comforting, I fall asleep.

§§§

When I wake up, there is a woman leaning an inch in front of my face. I bring a fist back to hit her, thinking, panicked, I'm already in the Games. She grabs my wrist and leans back. "Come with me," she intones. Her skin is flame-red, her eyes are shimmering yellow, her hair is orange, her whole body is sparkly, and she wears flame-like makeup. I recognize her as District 4's stylist. She pulls me to my feet and shoves me into a one-piece body suit that is painfully tight, like a full body corset, and makes it hard to breathe. She shoves me in front of a mirror, and my breath evaporates from my lungs.

The girl in the mirror looks like a water goddess – her hair is at least twelve different shades of blue, and creates a shimmering water effect, cut into chunky layers that float around her slim face. Her eyes are toxic green, highlighted by smoky eyeshadow with hints of blue and silver, lashes impossibly long and each lash tipped with a tiny blue sapphire. Her face is pale, slim, and flawless, with high cheekbones. Her figure is full and thin with hints of curves that I don't usually see. She is clad in arm warmers that are made of flowing water, and a dress of silvery-blue iridescent fish scales.

She is gorgeous.

I bring my hand up to my cheek and this goddess does the same.

This water goddess is… me?

"Is this… me?" I ask her.

She grins.

"I – I – I –"

"You're welcome," she intones.

I turn around and throw my arms around her. She freezes at first, then, slowly, relaxes in my arms. "Go," she urges, pushing me toward the door. "Go meet Christopher and Flavon. He'll show you to the chariot."

"Wish me luck," I call over my shoulder as I run to the door. "Not that I'll need it!"

I run through the remake center – which isn't as hard as I thought it would be in this dress, which I now see has thigh-high slits up the sides. They're subtle; you'd never see them unless you were looking – until I crash into the chest of Christopher. He falls, and I fall on top of him, my body pressed to his. I shake my hair out of my eyes and look into his face, confused, before I realize our position. I laugh, shaking my head as I bunch my muscles and spring into a flip off of him and offer him a hand, which he accepts.

"Sorry," I say.

He laughs, a light blush playing out across his face. "No pro…" he trails off as he takes in my appearance. He is dressed sort of like me, but he depicts the ocean, not a fish, and his hair is dyed silvery-blonde.

"I have to say," I state, "our stylists did really well this year."

"I'll say!" comes a voice behind Christopher. It is Flavon, the other District 4 stylist. "Come on, the chariots are this way." He takes off in a brisk pace to an open doorway which leads to an elevator. We take the elevator all the way down to the bottom level, and we are lead to our chariot, the one with the white-blue horses. Christopher and I climb in, and Flavon arrange our body positions so that we look good to the Capitol. I notice that he puts us close together – arms touching, holding hands. Cool. I'm going to need the support.

The ceremony is about to start. We are steered to a doorway where the District 3 tributes have just left. Flavon gives our four mares a pat, and then we are off. When the people of the Capitol see us, they erupt into cheers. I am glad to now that we are just as stunning to them as we are to ourselves.

I smirk and wave and blow kisses and wink, and they love me. Soon, though, we enter the City Circle, and we come to a halt near President Snow's mansion. The president comes out, his graying hair combed back and his beady black eyes darting around confidently.

Later, we do one final circle around the City Circle, and then we pull into the Training Center. It is a tall tower with one floor exclusively for each District's tributes and team. Out floor is the fourth floor. District 4, fourth floor; get it?

I am led to my room. It is larger than my whole house back in District 4. I head to the bathroom and peek in the shower; I am not surprised to see a series of buttons on the wall. I decide to take another shower; why not?

But first, I grab a marker from off the desk there.

Armed with my marker, I press each of the buttons, then label it with what it does. Just as I get out and get dressed – black pants, a blue-green sweater, and my black, cotton, – there is a knock on the door. It is Vola, calling me to dinner. We are served in courses, and with each course, we are given a new cup of wine. At first, I don't drink it, but then I think, _Ah, what the hell. I might die in a few days; why not get drunk first?_

Our first course is a thick mushroom soup. I am instantly wary – I don't trust mushrooms. I had mushroom soup once in school in District 4, and that night, I got horribly sick, and hallucinated.

After that is some leafy green stuff that Vola tells me is spinach. It is bitter, but still good. Then we are served a platter of salty meats, smelly cheeses with a pungent flavor, and sweet blue grapes.

By the end of dinner, my head is spinning, and I'm really, really happy.

I think I'm drunk.

After dinner, we all go into a room with several colorful couches. I flop down on then laugh as it cradles my body. We watch the opening ceremonies on a television. I only notice a few of them. There is a couple in gray marble-like clothes, like Greek pillars. There is a couple of robots.

Then comes two people with shimmering hair and dressed in shimmery fish scales and flowing water. I gasp and lean forward; they're beautiful.

"Who're _they_?!" I gasp, but my voice is strange, not clear; my words are severely slurred. Everyone looks at me, eyebrows raised, and I am confused. "Wha'?" I slur.

Then Layna rolls her eyes. "Oh jeez. She was drinking at dinner." Everyone groans at the same time. I laugh. "Tomorrow morning is the start of training. Meet us at breakfast and we'll talk about it."

"Okay!" I chirp, and leap up from the couch. Then the ground bucks and sways under my feet, and I wobble unsteadily. I start to fall backwards, but someone catches me. I tip my head back; it is Christopher. He is grinning. "Oh, _hi_ Christopher!"

He laughs a little, shaking his head. "Hello, Ever. Ready for bed?"

I pout. "But I don't _wanna_ go to bed!"

He laughs again, louder this time. Then he swings me up into his arms so he is holding me bridal-style, and I squeal. "Wow, you're _light_," he says, surprised.

I laugh. "I fin'lly hit 90 pounds las' month! I w's 70 for quite a while!"

He snorts a little and says, "Come on, Ever. It's _definitely_ time for you to go to bed." He laughs. "You're so drunk."

I yawn widely and snuggle my face into his chest. "M'kay," I murmur, closing my eyes. "G'night, Christopher."

Faintly, I hear him say, "Wait, I didn't mean _now_," and I hear the others laughing, but then I am asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**A:N/ So… How'd you all like that last chapter, huh? Pretty good? Long? Yeah! Of course! I wouldn't leave you guys for so long and then post a crummy chapter!**

**Yay! Let's go!**

Light stabs my closed eyelids. That is the first thing I notice. The second thing is the railroad spike that is (metaphorically) being driven into my skull. The third thing is the thing that causes me to jump up from the bed and run to the bathroom.

I throw the lid of the toilet up and crouch on my knees in front of it, pulling my hair out of my face as I empty my stomach in a burning, acid-y vomit.

When I am done, I moan and rest my burning forehead on the edge of the toilet. After a minute or two, I push myself up and stumble blearily into the shower. Trying to read my homemade labels just adds to the pain in my head, so I just wing it, pressing buttons at random, trying to vaguely remember a few and failing. Five minutes later, the water turns itself off, so I get out.

Slowly, I wrap myself in a robe and dry my hair with the panel on the wall. I glance at the mirror and am surprised – my hair is still blue. I shrug. _Whatever; it's cool anyway._

I find an that an outfit has been laid out for me on the bed: tight black pants, a long-sleeved blue-green tunic, and soft, black leather boots. I head into the bathroom and brush my teeth thoroughly to remove the taste of last night's alcohol from my mouth. I stumble to the dining room, rubbing my temples. I serve myself breakfast – not much; just the thought of eating makes me want to hurl again, but I know I should eat anyway. I take a plain roll and one strip of bacon.

I am just finishing when Vola, Layna, and Zeke walk in. They are happy, laughing, chatting, and each sound is like a stab to my throbbing head. I rub my temples and growl quietly. Christopher slides into the seat beside me and nudges me with his shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" he asks quietly.

"Like crap," I growl.

Zeke nods sympathetically. "You probably have a _killer_ hangover. Here, take one of these." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pill bottle. He shakes out one large, green pill and places it in my outstretched hand.

I take it dry.

As soon as I take it, my headache starts to fade and my nausea goes down. I sigh in relief. "Thank you."

He nods.

When everyone is done eating, and our plates are cleared, Layna and Zeke lean forward on their elbows on the table. "Okay. Training," says Zeke, blowing out a big gust of air.

"Do you want to be trained together or separately," asks Layna.

"Why would we be trained _separately_?" I ask.

"I'll take that as a 'together,'" says Zeke. "So, what can you guys do?"

"Well," says Christopher, "I can use a spear."

Layna nods. "Good, good. There is almost always a spear in the Games. What about you, girl? What can you do?"

I look her right in the eye. "I can do everything." She snorts. "I didn't say I was _good_ at everything, but I'm sure I'll be able to figure out how to hold a sword."

"Okay," says Zeke. "Let me rephrase that: what are you _good_ at?"

I think for a moment. "Knives. I can use knives in close combat. And… free-running." I glance at Layna and she nods.

"We can both swim like fish," adds Christopher, "and hold our breath for about five minutes."

"I can catch fish with pretty much anything," I say. "Even my bare hands."

Christopher nods. "Me too. Well," he adds, "not the bare-hands part."

Zeke and Layna nod. "Listen to me," says Layna. "Visit every single station in the Training Center. Learn something new. If you're good at something, show off. Make sure you go to at least a few stations together."

Christopher and I nod. He asks, "What are all the stations? Do you know?"

They think. Layna says, "Archery, Axes, Camouflage… Fire Making, Fishing, Free Running, Hand-to-Hand Combat, Knives, Knots, Ropes Course… Spears, Swords, Tridents… and Wrestling." She turns to Zeke. "Are there more?"

He thinks hard. "Yeah. There's… um… Edible Insects, Edible Plants… Hammock Making… Shelters, Slingshots, Snares… um… there's an obstacle course… and… Weight-Lifting. I _think_ that's all, but I could be wrong."

I lift an eyebrow. "Do we really have to go to fishing?"

Layna shakes her head. "No. You don't have to go to fishing." We nod.

"Aright, guys. Go hang out in your rooms for a while," says Zeke. "Relax. Do some stretches. Get ready." We nod again. I stand up and Christopher does the same.

§§§

An hour later, we are in the Training Center, at the ground level of the building. Vola pins a _4_ on our backs and then we go and join the circle and wait. When the last of the tributes arrive – the ones from 10 – the head trainer, Atala – who is the youngest trainer in Hunger Games history, at age 17 – stands up and explains how training is going to work. When she's done, we nod – which I seem to be doing a lot lately – and break off to start training. I take Layna's advice and start at the Free Running station.

There, I learn how to run up walls, jump from trees and buildings, and how to run and slide into a tiny whole without stopping or slowing.

The trainer is impressed.

I meet Christopher at the Snares station, and I learn a few basic snares. We go to the Knives station next and he works on throwing while I work on close range. The trainer marvels at the strange way I hold the knives – blades backward in my hands, near my wrists, rather than the normal outward way. He says that this grip is called "Talon Leading," and that it works better for slashing rather than stabbing.

There is another girl at this station; she rips through training dummy after training dummy, twirling, lighting fast. Her long dark hair whips around as she twirls and leaps. She is the District 1 girl, Tami. For a moment, I just watch her, taking in the way she moves, her technique. For a moment she pauses, and sees me watching her. She snarls at me, but I have already seen. I copy her, and soon I can spin and twirl like her, but I slash rather than stab – slitting throats and wrists – which takes much less force and energy.

There are at least 20 dead dummies here now.

§§§

For two days we do that. The training, I mean. I am now pretty damn good at every station. I have always been a remarkably fast learner.

On the third day, they call us out of lunch for a private session with the Gamemakers. After about fifteen minutes, they call my name. As they watch, I go to the knife station. I flip and spin and twirl, killing dummy after dummy. I incorporate my free running. After a minute or two, I get bored with that, so I grab several knives, shove them in my belt, then run at the wall. When I get there, rather than stopping, I run up the wall, grabbing onto the ropes that hang on the ceiling. I swing my way to the middle of the room and hang upside-down from my knees. I take the knives from my belt and throw them, one by one, into the dummies. When I have two left, I drop down so I hang from my ankles and throw one. With the last knife, I drop from the ceiling, flipping, and throw one in midair before I land (perfectly on my feet). I catch the handle, and, using that momentum, whip around and hurl the blade right into the lone unharmed dummy's chest.

I am dismissed after this (awesome) performance.

When I leave, I find Christopher, who went before me, has waited for me. I smile at him and bump his shoulder with mine playfully.

We've grown a lot closer since we've been reaped together; we're good friends now. I'd even go so far as to say best friends. He's really funny. He helps keep me positive, but he doesn't know that. Or at least, I've never told him that outright.

We're planning an alliance in the Games.

"So, how'd you do?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "Okay. I did some spears; I don't think they were too impressed."

I shrug. "That's okay." I go to tell him what I did, but then stop myself.

I don't want him to feel jealous.

§§§

After dinner that night, we go back to that living room we went to the night I was drunk. Christopher got a seven.

I got a ten.

§§§

Vola wakes me up with another bucket of goddamn water. I have to resist the urge to gouge out her eyeballs. I take another shower, using my labels as a guide. My hair, I am pleased to see, appears to be permanently blue.

In the dining room, we eat breakfast. We will discuss our angle and go over etiquette for the interview later today. Vola will work with me for four hours first, while Uriah works with Christopher. Then we will switch, but I'll work with Layna.

Vola puts me in a floor length gown and 10-inch spike-heels. I'm not kidding. 10. Inches.

She works with me with walking, sitting, eye-contact, smiling, which I refuse and replace with smirking. Then I am released and allowed to put pants back on (yay!). Layna pulls me into a room and watches at me. "Angle," she muses. "Angle."

"Cocky," I say. "It's been my angle the whole time, I'm not changing it now."

She nods. "Good idea." We work with that for another four hours.

I sleep fitfully that night.

§§§

The next morning, I find Juniper and Ivo leaning over me. I leap out of my skin, then wrap my arms around Juniper and cry, "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ for not pouring water on me!"

They work all morning and afternoon on de-hairing my skin and making it shine, stenciling temporary tattoos up and down my arms and legs, and painting my nails black. Then they gel my hair into blue, pixie-like spikes and recreate my face. They cover it with a layer of thick foundation that matches my skin tone perfectly, then draw my features back in, only better. My eyes are enormous, my cheekbones high, eyebrows thin and delicate, and my lips full, blood red and sexy. My dress is short and tight. It is black with a long slit all the way up both sides, up almost to my hip. My heels are huge, shiny and colorful. My whole outfit is just loud loud loud.

I am escorted backstage, where I join Christopher in line. We chat while we wait for the interviews to start.

Then Tami and the rest of the Careers come up to me. Tami looks me up and down then looks me dead in the eyes. "If you want to join us," she states, "you're welcome to."

I am surprised. I glance at Christopher, then Tami, then Christopher, then the Careers, back to Tami again. "I'll have to think about it," I say. She nods and sniffs and sashes away, onto the stage for her interview.

Soon, very soon, it's my turn. I stand up to go. "Good luck," Christopher whispers. I grin at him over my shoulder.

Then I'm on stage.

**A:N/ GUYS! I NEED HELP!**

**I really really **_**really**_** need your opinion: Should Ever win the Games? I need to know within the next few chapters so I can angle the story so that she either does or doesn't. **

**Also, if you could leave any review at all, that would be nice. I read**

**Every**

**Single**

**One. **

**Thanks!**

**4 ****XD Divergent**


	6. Chapter 6

**A:N/ Hi guys… I still need opinions, please…**

**Thank you!**

The crowd erupts into cheers when they see me. I smirk and wink and flirt with them before taking my seat next to Caesar Flickerman. This year, his hair and makeup are pea-green. He grins when he sees me and I grin back. When the crowd calms down, he looks at me and says, "He-llo, _Ever!_ You look _stunning_ tonight!"

I smirk and run a hand through my hair. "Why, thank you, Caesar. But don't I always?" The crowd laughs.

"Yes! Yes! Of course you do! I mean, when you came out on your chariot, I was _stunned!_" The crowd cheers wildly. "All I could think was wo-o-_ow!_"

I laugh. "I know! I felt like a goddess! I mean, even more so than usual!"

Caesar laughs. "You certainly were. Tell us, Ever: what has impressed you most since you came to the Capitol?"

I grin. "Oh, that's an easy one: the showers." The crowd goes insane cheering, hooting with laughter. "I got assaulted the first time I got in one! They almost ruined this beautiful face!" I exclaim, smirking, one hand on my cheek.

"How are you feeling about the Games? Are you nervous?"

"Nervous? Why would I be nervous? I'm going to _win_!"

Caesar guffaws. "Yes, you _did_ have that ten in training. _Phew!_ Te-e-_en_! Very rare from a girl from 4. What did you do?"

I smile sweetly at him. "Sorry, Caesar, can't tell ya. But let's just say… the Careers invited me to join them."

Caesar looks surprised. "And did you accept?" he asks.

"I told them I'd think about it. I was going to ally with Christopher…" Caesar nods understandingly. "I mean, he earned _my_ respect with the bro-hug!" I joke.

"Ah, yes! That reminds me!" cries Caesar, clapping. He leans forward as though we are about to tell each other a secret. "So," he asks, voice low, "who was that boy?"

I laugh. "That was Speed."

"_Speed_. Are you two… together?"

I nod. "Sorry guys; I'm taken."

Caesar laughs. "Speaking of guys," he says, winking at me, "you and Christopher seem to be getting awfully close, huh?"

I tip my head back and laugh long and loud – is he suggesting something romantic going on between us?

"No," I say. "No no no. It's not like that. We're friends," I say. "Just friends." Caesar nods. "I have to say though – he's really a great guy. I think… I think…" I trail off for a minute, gazing off into the distance. "He's been my rock through this whole thing." I gaze at the crowd. "It is thanks to him I'm still sane right now."

Just then, a buzzer goes off; my turn is over. I stand up as the crowd cheers – I really think they like me – and start to exit the stage. But then, thinking, I pause, and turn around and pull Caesar in for a hug. "Before I leave," I call, loud enough for him to hear me over the crowd, "I just want to take a minute to say that Caesar?" He looks at me. "You're a great guy. I'm glad I had the chance to meet you in person."

I see his eyes start to water and he kisses one of my cheeks lightly before I am shooed off stage. When I go through the stage door, I see Christopher there, waiting to go on stage. When he sees me, he smiles gratefully. I give him a quick hug and say, "Good luck," before he is whisked on stage.

I can see he angled toward charismatic, funny, nice. He chats with Caesar, cracking jokes, making the people of the Capitol swoon for him. I faintly here one girl in the crowd scream, "_I love you, Christopher!_" This makes me think.

Through the television in the lounge room, the one with the overstuffed couches, I can examine him without having to worry about him noticing my stares. I suppose he is handsome, but he's not really my type. Besides, I have Speed back at home to come home for.

But then, if I go home to Speed, that means that Christopher… won't.

_No._ I shake my head. _Focus on Christopher._ He has shaggy, dirty-blonde hair that lied in soft curls, and steel-grey eyes. He's muscled, but still thin and sort of lanky. He's about and inch or two taller than me, and probably weighs about 120 pounds, give or take.

Yes, he could be considered handsome, but again, not my type. I prefer guys like Speed: my height, dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin… My chest aches when I think of Speed, so I push all thoughts of him from my mind. Instead, I concentrate on Caesar and Christopher on stage. I watch the screen.

"– real shame, though, to know you have to be in the Arena with her in a couple days," Caesar is saying.

I watch a shadow cross Christopher's face, and when he responds, his voice is bleak. "Yeah. A real shame."

Then the buzzer rings and he meets me again backstage. When he walks in, I clap one hand on his shoulder. "We'll worry about it when the time comes," I say, and he doesn't answer, he just presses his lips together.

Then Vola, Layna, and Uriah walk in cheering. Vola grabs my hands and pulls me around in a circle, cooing, "You guys did fan-_tastic!_ They love you!"

Layna nods enthusiastically. "They are crazy for that sense of friendship you guys displayed."

"They've never seen anything like it, and they _love_ it!"

"Listen," I say, "I was thinking –"

"Oh, not now," chides Vola. "We'll discuss our plans over dinner. Come along!"

We travel to the dining room. Once we sit down, a group of Avox serve us a decadent five-course-meal. It starts with a creamy white soup, topped with soft pink rose petals.

As we eat, I talk. "So, as you guys already know, Christopher and I were going to form an alliance." They respond with nods. "And the Careers offered to let me join them." They look up at me, beginning to suspect where I am going with this. "So I was thinking…"

I tell them my plan through the rest of the soup and steamed broccoli. They argue against it over lamb chops and peas. Over rice in a cheese sauce, I refuse to back down, so we work out finer details.

We eat creamy cheese and fruit slices in silence. My plan is very dangerous – but then, in the Arena, what isn't?


End file.
